This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1840 Excerpt: ...than her golden light, Nor Fancy's wanderings fairer than her reign? Thus on the Gorphwysfa I stopp'd to gaze, As from a throne, upon those glorious vales, And on old Snowdon, wrapp'd in shrouding haze, --The eternal crown of our own storm-girt Wales! XIII. Behind, thou fair Llyn Gwynnant! with thy smile Of quenchless ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1840 Excerpt: ...than her golden light, Nor Fancy's wanderings fairer than her reign? Thus on the Gorphwysfa I stopp'd to gaze, As from a throne, upon those glorious vales, And on old Snowdon, wrapp'd in shrouding haze, --The eternal crown of our own storm-girt Wales! XIII. Behind, thou fair Llyn Gwynnant! with thy smile Of quenchless beauty, and thy mellow'd shade Of deepening purple, softening the defile With hues of living joy that never fade. And that clear lake, with its untroubled waves So calm, scarce ruffled by the passing wind; And guarded by each lofty rock that braves For countless years the elements combined. XIV. Fit dwelling for one desolate and lone, (12) And weary of the stormy, hollow world, --One who, with suitable reward, had grown The victim of the bolts himself had hurl'd, --Unhappy, but unpitied Vortigern! Here 'mid these mountains often did he roam, With vain regrets and with forebodings stern, Of slavery and unnumber'd woes to come. From the false allies he had lately sued For help and safety from the Pictish arms; They, of whose people he had fondly woo'd The fair Rowena of the guileful charms. Well might the monarch mourn, who thus had sold His country's freedom for the Saxon's child, And stifle in his heart the rage untold, Scarce breathing forth those passions deep and wild! XVI. If aught could calm that struggle, it had been The lulling whispers of the moaning stream, The placid stillness of that fairy scene, The realising of some poet's dream! Not so; the ghastly vale that starts aside In thrilling grandeur from that spot of peace, Through which the foaming rivulets that glide With their hoarse rush, the thickening gloom increase. XVII. The gloom of toppling crags, sharp, straight, and dark, And lost amid the low'ring misty sky, As if a breath mig
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